In the dream, I look down at my saddle-shoes and wonder what I'm going to do today. It is somewhere in the 1950's, and the light pink poodle skirt contrasts sharply with my mahogony skin.
It is a fair sized house, one with an upstairs. I live somewhere in a largish city, one like Chicago, or maybe the Bronx or Brooklyn. I have never seen my parents, in this dream, so I do not know what they look like or what they do. I do not know if I have siblings, or a dog, or any of that other kid kind of stuff that is just so damned important when you're young.
There is only the old man.
He appears occasionally, in the dream, and I know I want to avoid him as much as possible. Not a bad man, but one as old folks sometimes are. Silent. Stern. A little frightening. And so when he appears, in the dream, I duck my head and go to another room. Grandfather? Uncle? I do not know.
Sometime before waking up, I realize no one else can see the old man. It is then that I realize also that he is an angel, perhaps come to take me home. He is filled with Light. And as I awaken I wish I could have known this old man, who despite appearances is a kind old soul, and is just a guiding hand to all he touches.